The New World
by Dragonheart51
Summary: A fatal blunder on the part of the Separatists sends a young nation with a burning ambition to lead against them and to ally with the Republic. And the galaxy shall know fear as vengeance is wrought in burnished rows of steel, the vengeance of man shall be written in blood. Jedi or Sith, it matters no longer. War has come, with all her glories. REWRITE PENDING
1. Chapter 1

A long time ago in a galaxy not so far away…

STAR WARS

Episode 3

 **THE NEW WORLD**

 **War! The galaxy has been divided for over a year, and with no end in sight, the Jedi's numbers grow thinner. There are heroes on both sides and evil is every where.**

 **Now in this age of darkness, the republic looks desperately for new allies as more star systems join the Confederacy of Independent Systems led by the evil Count Dooku and plunge the republic further towards defeat.**

 **But the seeds of victory had been sown years before the clone wars ever began, and in this time of need, the savior of the republic is unknowingly being drawn in, to rescue the ailing democracy and the galaxy…**

Prologue, Prelude to War.

Just outside the orbit of the planet of Bakura, on the edge of the outer rim territories, a fleet prepared for war. And oh, what a fleet it was! 10 _lucrehulk_ carriers, 14 _providence_ battleships, 20 destroyers and 60 frigates. On the bridge of the flagship stood two sinister black-clad figures, Asajj Ventress and Darth Tyrannus, better known by his nome-de-guerre, Count Dooku.

"Is the fleet ready Ventress?" Dooku said, his fluid Serreno panache seeping into his voice.

"Everything is ready for the trial of the fleet." His hawk faced apprentice replied.

"Good, then we may begin. Commander, let's get the armada to the target and quickly! We've now kept the poor souls on that planet waiting long enough. So please make haste. I'd imagine that if they knew we were coming, they'd be about ready to explode with terror." The captain of the vessel turned to the count. "Understood, very serious indeed. I'll have them at full speed the entire way, Count!" The captain began barking orders to the droid crew and the count smiled.

"Destination; Milky Way Galaxy, Sol System, Planet Earth. We are coming, and I don't care how many hundreds or thousands or millions or billions of people try to stop me!" And with those final words, the fleet disappeared in a flash of blue without so much as leaving a trace.

 ** _(Sangre de Cristo Inter-Planetary Radar Station, New Mexico, Earth, Sol System)_**

The SDC IRPS's name gave it a more impressive feeling than the institute itself. In the 20th century the former SETI institute had stretched over 10 square miles and employed more than a thousand technicians and workers, hunting for the life beyond our planet. Now, in the 24th century, with the lack of hostile alien life, the staff was the bare minimum of guards, repairmen and two technicians, monitoring the equipment and forwarding data to space command and NASA. The man on the planetary radar, a young technical specialist by the name of George Rutherford was an army radar operator who had transferred to the site after three years of work at Armed Forces High Command. This was not what he had expected at all when he came here, in truth he was only here because he was assigned to the place.

Rutherford was in charge of the interplanetary radar, a system of military satellites that monitored the space outside of earth's atmosphere and around mars. Last he checked, the system had a range out to Pluto, an impressive system at the time it was made to be sure. However, Rutherford had no time to marvel at the strength of the ancient equipment, he had a shift to complete. One that he could not wait for to end. The work was boring and trivial. And his pay was barely above the minimum wage, which in this economy, wasn't much.

But presently, the radar screen began a series of low pulsing sounds. Rutherford's blood froze, he had been in enough combat situations to know what that meant.

Contact.

Rutherford hurried over to the display and to his surprise, he saw what looked like a large group of meteors moving from behind Mars. Immediately Rutherford rushed out of the room to the control center and the phone to High Command. "Command?" Rutherford said. Nervous and shaking, he waited for the response to the call.

"Command here." Came the garbled response.

"This is IPRC, New Mexico. Lieutenant, we have several large objects coming around the orbit of Mars. What do you make of it?" Command's representative, a young lieutenant, checked the manifest and replied back into the phone, "As you were Sergeant, it's just a asteroid cluster coming in from the belt. There's nothing to worry about."

Rutherford hung up the phone and turned uncertainly back to the read-screen. "Hell of a lot of asteroids." Unbeknownst to him, as this conversation went on, the fleet of separatist warships edged ever closer. Not five minutes after, the ships were in range. A single word, and hundreds of fighters and thousands of bombers flew in swarms out of the gaping maws of the hangers. Off they went, off to wreak destruction and havoc on an unsuspecting world as the battleship's guns prepared to rain death upon the hapless planet.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: My second story is now up! Reviews and Favorites are appreciated, and criticism is also appreciated. In fact I welcome it.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Star Wars is property of Disney and, unofficially, George Lucas. I own nothing except my original characters.**

* * *

Chapter 1

Down on Earth, oblivious to all the goings on in the void, Trevor Wilson stood outside the small cafe he owned on pacific beach in the former United States. Trevor was a stocky fellow dressed in cheap jeans and a button-up shirt. Wilson was a recently discharged army sergeant, having served five years in the Tethys Sector with the 2nd regiment, 4th brigade of the 8,017th Infantry division. He considered these to be the worst years of his life, and that went without saying. Back in Tethys, he was called "The White Sheep", because he had stood against all the murders committed by his battalion. He wasn't court-martialed, but at times, he almost wished that he had been.

Now he was out six months, with nothing except his meagre skills at business. So he opened up his cafe, "Wilson's" down on Pacific Beach. Times were tough with the recession going on, but Trevor managed to scratch out a living running his cafe. An achievement itself considering the condition of the economy. _"I always wanted this life. So why does it feel so empty? Or do I still want to be out there? In Tethys."_ Trevor thought absently as he sat out on one of his outside tables. He was the owner, not the manager you see. Trevor was a fellow who tried to keep to a private life. He was also a man who tried, as his nickname suggested, to stay on the straight and narrow. But life as one finds, is full of tribulations, not the least of which, if not the greatest, is that of war. What with it's ability to throw even the stoutest hearts into the bitter straits of depression and poor living.

Wilson was nothing if not tenacious however. He had gotten at least a roof and food. And perhaps that would not seem so awful after all. He had arrived at the tail end of a recession, and so times were beginning to look up. The army had apparently felt this, and that was why he was allowed to leave when he did. It was a common scam nowadays. When times were tough, the army would snap up anyone foolish enough to think the military would solve their problems. In boom times, they would champion themselves as the most prestigious force in all of Earth and her colonies. Which they were, the Military was inextricably linked with the United Terran Republics, or UTR. That was the name for governing body of all of Earth and it's colonies in the Milky Way. In a sense it was the UTR. It certainly was the largest human military force that had ever been created. All total, there were some 3.6 billion men and women in the army, with corresponding ramifications for the Navy. However there were new colonies being settled every month, and for every man in the army, there were three more in the various colonial militias.

Many derided the UTR as being "The Imperium of Man, except more efficient." However, the comparison to the fictional galaxy spanning empire was not entirely fair. Human rights were not being violated, as there were no other nations to fight against, save for the odd alien species and non-republican governments on various colonies which needed to be put down. Many agreed that the Earth was entering into a period of calm, and economic up turn. Trevor's mind went over these events and his current situation. "Well whatever else happens in the galaxy, I haven't yet lost my life. And I'm also having a decent time as a businessman. Maybe things are looking up for me after all." Trevor said to himself before walking back to his office on the second story.

He should have remembered that life has a bad habit of screwing people royally, especially when they think things are getting better.

* * *

Trevor was sitting in his office sorting the week's mail, of which 50% was bills. Hoping to break the monotony, he turned on the set and switched to GNN (Galactic News Network) hoping to see whatever information the boys in the newsroom were picking over. But his blood ran cold when he saw the graphic on the screen. A flight of voidcraft unlike anything he knew of streaked out of the sky, smoke trailing off their hulls from entry into the atmosphere. Then he saw the flames. And he heard the voice of Donny Greene saying: "Reports all over the system have been pouring in of a fleet of ships matching no known specifications launching void craft at the Earth. The craft have launched missiles at several major cities. San Francisco, Berlin, London and Hong Kong are only a few of the cities attacked."

"The fleet orbiting the planet has given no message signifying their allegiance, or even- wait." Greene put his hand to his ear and looked back up at the camera in the studio. "I apologize, we are receiving a transmission from the flagship of the unidentified fleet. Please stand by." Greene's mustachioed face faded out and the face of a bearded old man in black.

"Citizens of Earth." he said with a British accent, "I am Count Dooku, leader of the Separatist Alliance. And your new master. This world and all it's inhabitants are now host to the Separatist State. Your surrender is now commanded, so as to spare any _needless_ suffering." He grinned in an unpleasant way as he said the last two words. But Trevor was already out of his office. He had felt the shaking and heard the noise of exploding ordinance. And now he was running. Running down the stairway on the second story of his cafe down through the bar and onto Gresham street, and only stopped when he saw what lay to the north. A flight of odd aircraft were flying an a finger five formation, low to the ground. Perhaps not more than two hundred meters above it. Even more alarming, Trevor's eye could pick out small black shapes being released from the bottom and gliding down to ground level.

A small part of Trevor's mind that still retained his military training screamed: _"INCOMING!"_ and he ran. He slipped into the café and screamed for every patron still in the building to take cover, which they did in time to brace against the blast wave of detonating explosives. Ducking behind the counter, Trevor slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. "Yes?!" called the voice into the microphone on the other end.

"This is Sgt. Trevor Wilson! I need to get in contact with anyone in a position of military authority!" He shouted, hearing static, and feared the worst. But the connection finally managed to reestablished itself.

"The highest commanding officer around is Lieutenant Gage. He's organizing the police in case there are any troop landings. If you have training, we could use a hand over here!" A voice called out on the other end and the receiver went on to the hook. Trevor immediately jumped over the counter and told those few still left in the building to hide or stick close to buildings if they must flee. Immediately after doing so, he rushed out the front door and headed for the police station. _"If I'm lucky, they'll have weapons of_ some _kind. If any forces are landed then there better fucking be some."_ He thought, as he ran ever onward. His body, even after six months remembered the motions of PT jogging.

Finally, he was halfway to the police station, so close he could see the emblem of the building. But as he looked inland, he saw large double winged ships with flat bottoms and closely escorted by the odd fighters. Trevor felt his heart contract as he saw them descending to the surface and land several blocks over. "Those are landing craft. They have to be." He said, and he ran even faster to the station because of the overwhelming implications those large ships carried with them. This was an invasion.

In another minute he was in the station, franticly shouting to see the lieutenant. After he calmed down from his initial hysteria, he chanced to look around the main lobby. Numerous barricades had been set up and several police officers clutched assault rifles at various points in the room. A small number of those officers had been startled at Trevor's entrance and aimed their weapons at him. However after they saw who it was, they lowered their weapons and relieved expressions crossed their faces. "Wilson!" shouted one of the police officers to him, "We were wondering when you'd show!" He gestured around the barricade and said, "Grab a rifle, and a radio, then take cover, those things landed close to us, so they're gonna be here soon!"

Trevor leapt over the ad hoc wall and grabbed one of the rifles still in the gun rack. _"Well Trevor, you thought you wanted to back in Tethys. Well now you're back in it. Only it's the Earth itself that's the battlefield."_ he thought grimly. His weapon, an antique Wesley-Richards 550 las-rifle, had a familiar feel to it. For one of the model's number was one of the weapons in his training platoon. Then he pulled out one of the last radio sets off the mount and put the device to his ear, while switching from channel to channel, attempting to find some other police station that was still intact, or perhaps even one of the Military bases, preferably Vandenberg. Then he tried calling into the device, but all that answered him was static. Looking around, he saw that a few others were trying their own radios for what seemed the latest occasion. So, some species of jamming was being used by the invaders. Seeing this fact, Trevor rushed back over to the barricade and loaded the first of the taken magazines. This task complete, Trevor steadied the weapon, and looked down the sights, waiting for the telltale sound of marching feet. Trevor steadied his breath, while tightening the weapon to his shoulder.

Then it came; the cracking, crushing noise of massed metallic soles. The sound seemed to be coming from the front of the building, and a closer look down the sights showed, in what he could only described as a breach of all conventional military wisdom, the massed ranks of tan, skeletal machines, with semi-avian heads and three fingered appendages, clutched in which were black pistol-like weapons, too small for carbines. Trevor had to assume that they were what passed for rifles among the invaders, though even for laser weapons, they must have been incredibly short ranged. Perhaps, Trevor thought, the problematical range necessitated the massed ranks to ensure even the remotest chance of killing the enemy. However, he was struck by their proximity to the station and tightened his grip on his rifle and lined up the sights.

"Wait for my signal, then pick your targets." came the whispered order from the Lieutenant, and sergeants began passing the order down the line. Now there descended upon the whole line that kind of silence that begins just before battle, the kind that is almost tangible, heavy with tension and excitement. For a moment, all was silent, save for the monotonous clank of the machine's feet.

Then it began.

Just as the first rank of machines came within two hundred meters, the command was screamed, "FIRE!" and for a few seconds, despite it being broad daylight, Trevor was almost blinded by the blinding red light from thirty las-rifles and the accompanying acrid stench of burning ozone. The first volley complete, the Lieutenant shouted out, "Fire at will!" Now the noise became almost deafening as the lasers streaked through the air at the speed of light and striking the enemy machines. But these things were so fragile, so fragile, that a hit to the center would simply melt a hole right through, often a single hit would go through one enemy and strike another. But all Trevor could see was that the enemy troops were falling in droves. _"They aren't even trying to hide. This is just one big turkey shoot!"_

The entire thing was over in two minutes. Trevor rubbed his eyes and looked around. The street was filled with tan colored scrap metal, the wreckage of defeat. But the police had taken casualties of their own. Three men lay sprawled out on the ground behind the barricade, burn marks on their heads or necks, and another five were wounded, and the medics, or what passed for medics were in the process of patching them up. But the battle was not over yet. Trevor could see a score of quad-winged transports descending through the sky, and five times that in numbers of fighters. Well, if the number of machines he and the police had destroyed was any indication, then perhaps they might be able to hold out, assuming they didn't run out of ammopacks. Each Las-rifle was issued with four rechargeable power packs, each was the size of a magazine on the old rifles of pre-unification Terra. A single ammopack could fire 50 shots, this combined with the cheap cost of manufacturing and the sheer fact that they could recharge if left in the sun, made it a logistical godsend. However, no weapon was without it's downsides, the Las-rifle's was that each power pack needed at least 15 minutes to reach 100% charge, and Trevor and the police had already gone through a magazine each.

Trevor took this minute to take stock of his position and the men around him. They were in a sorry state and he thought now, _"For God's sake, I hope that we only get a few companies of those things headed our way. If we don't then the Army won't have anyone to save by the time they get here."_ Trevor's ear now caught a muttered curse, and upon tracking down the mutterer, he heard the man say, "Jesus Christ, where's the Marines when you need them?!" Trevor scoffed at the idea that the Marines of all people would come and save them. If the Marines did show up they would just blow the city to smithereens and roast whatever was still moving at the end of it. It was what they had done in Tethys.

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but I fucking wish the Army would show the fuck up!" Trevor said as he leaned back against the barricade. Various murmurs and shouts of 'Got that right!' and 'Hell yeah!' answered his out loud thinking. Then the sound came again. That same damn clanking, clicking noise. Even more this time. A whole company's worth. "I'm getting damn sick of those machines. How many more do they fucking HAVE?!" Then the shooting gallery opened for business again, and this time, it went on for more than an hour, sometimes the machine would wait for five minutes, sometimes fifteen. Now the whole street was, for two hundred feet, littered with the burned or fused pieces of the machines and more magazines had to be swapped out. "This is getting to be a dangerous game. We're short half our ammo and-" the officer who was muttering this now looked up, towards the sky. Racing down through the stratosphere, with the very flames of hell on their wingtips, were a finger-five of Susanoo fighter bombers.

"Fellas... I never thought I would say this, and I know it's cliche as shit to say it, but I think the cavalry's here!" And indeed it had. The F-155 Susanoo, designed by the Lockheed-Martin Aircraft Corporation, and named after the Japanese god of storms. Rather a fitting name considering it's purpose. Now it showed it's incredible resemblance to that ancient deity's chosen hobby. One of the craft broke off and began rushing towards the street, and even from the distance Trevor and his small band of combatants. Then, with a roar to mark their presence, a dozen missiles slammed into the ground, only one hundred feet from the station. Danger close indeed. The end result was that, when Trevor opened his eyes again, and his ears stopped ringing, the entire street for half a kilometer was blown to glowing shards.

Now the radios began to buzz with chatter as the jamming the machines and their leaders were implementing had lifted, and the men looked up as the sky seemed to fill with streaking missiles and darting, mosquito sized pinpricks that all could tell to be fighter craft. Suddenly, the voice of a man who's every inflection was possessed of a stoicism that few others could match boomed over the comms. "This is General Admiral Raymond Haggard of Battlefleet Sol, we have arrived." The now recognizable shapes of Air Force fighters rapidly cleared the skies and headed closer to ground. Not but five seconds after the last fighter cleared the airspace, twelve brilliant flashes of light struck the eyes of every man, woman and child in the city. Then, not a split second later, the light disappeared. And what it left in it's place was both awesome, and frightful. For where only seconds before, there was only empty sky, now there rested great constructs of neosteel. It would almost be erroneous to call them ships, for so great in size were they that it would have been better to call them floating cities.

For Battlefleet Sol had indeed arrived, and it's heralds to Earth were these twelve destroyers of Destroyer Division 25. Never in his life had Trevor been so happy to see something which was made to deal death out to nameless multitudes. But then, with machines, one didn't really need to worry about life or death. There were a few fighters on the side of the invaders which hadn't taken the hint and were now little more than oil smears on the prows of the ships that arrived. Now the mop-up began. Which was, as can easily be inferred, an easy feat. Even as Trevor and his ad-hoc section began to advance through the streets, it seemed that wherever they went, they would find only machines folded upon themselves or collapsed in the street. And after a few prods, it was decided that their batteries had run out.

Trevor quickly decided, after meeting up with another police patrol and the last street was cleared, that this was the weirdest day he had ever had.

He would change his mind the next day.

* * *

A week later, Trevor Wilson woke, had breakfast, and turned on the old TV in his house. He smirked at the fact that the newscasters had already made a label for the recent battle. That was another thing, when the machines came through, they hadn't caused that much damage. Sure there were a few bombings here and there, but it was all rather sparse. Water and electricity still functioned, and for once, Trevor agreed with the casters when they called the conflict, "The Front Yard Skirmish". For in the Terran scope of things, the Machine attack could only be called such.

The official statement given by the Military and Admiralty Board after the last scrimmage on the outskirts of the Sol System, read by Donny Greene went as follows:

"The enemy, which has identified itself as the Separatist Alliance has bombed several cities on Terra and made localized, though rather sporadic landings, consequently, there have been several thousand lives lost. Despite this, damage is moderate and even now the Army Corps of Engineers is at work repairing what damage has been caused by the bombing raids. The Separatist fleet itself evacuated the system as soon as Battlefleet Sol arrived. The enemy forces seemed more eager to escape rather than to do battle with our ships. As soon as the fleet arrived, the enemy's naval assets made their way to the edge of the System whereupon the enemy ships engaged their FTL drives and made a getaway in the direction of the galactic east."

"The General Staff has recently constructed a hypothesis that might explain this series of events. This idea is that they assumed we were a primitive civilization with no real naval assets and were put off balance by the appearance by a fleet which their planning had made no preparation for, or even given the remotest consideration of. The chiefest issue the military now faces, is the fact that the Transports in the enemy fleet did not deploy the whole of their soldiers. And given the fact that they were last seen fleeing west, we now assume that the fleet is attempting to escape back to it's bases in home territory. Given the disposable nature which the machine soldiers have been treated in the areas they were deployed, the High Command hypothesizes that they will deploy small brigade or division size detachments on every Terran world they can find, so as to bog our forces down with planetary sieges whilst their naval elements escape."

"What task now confronts us is to pursue this enemy with all speed and bring it's leadership to justice. But we must be prepared for a long and continuous conflict." Greene looked up at the camera, and continued. "The President will be on at five to give his official statement on the issue, and many wonder as to what he will say in response to this blatant attack upon Terra's Sovereignty." This was the point that Trevor turned off the TV and laid back on his bed. "So." he said quietly, "We're going to war. For real this time." Before he could continue his out loud thinking, a knock came at the door. "This better be damn important." Trevor growled to himself.

The knock came again, stronger this time. "Alright, alright! I'll be right there!" And he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled over to the door. This knock had caused him to stumble and steady himself on the kitchen table, while the hangover he had felt when he woke up had come back with a vengeance. When he reached the door, he flung it open and saw the three men in dark green uniforms, a colonel and two sergeants on his threshold. Immediately, Trevor unconsciously brought his body completely upright to parade rest. "What can I do for you sir?"

"Good morning Sergeant." The one in front said, his mood rather grim for the day, "I must say it was easy to get hold of you. Given your history with the Army, I would have thought that you would've taken pains to make sure you weren't found."

"Kind of an exercise in futility right? No one escapes the Army. You serve the minute you turn eighteen and your a reservist ever after." The Colonel nodded his head and the expression on his face reflected the truth in that statement. "So what do you want me for?" Trevor asked.

"May we come in first? There's some things I have to discuss with you about which it would not be politic to give details in public." the Colonel asked, forestalling any further questions Trevor might have had. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned inward into the house. A moment later, the four of them were sitting around Trevor's table and waiting for one to make the first move.

Trevor decided to speak first. "So why the hell did the Army send a full-bird Colonel to find me? And why me specifically? More to the point, why now?" He was annoyed, and he wanted answers.

"To answer your first question, the Armed Forces have been scouring Terra and any other systems in our space for soldiers that are veterans of campaigns of any significant size, and given your service in Tethys, you were one of the first candidates. Next question, you gave impeccable service in your treatment of human prisoners, and you imbued your squad with that mentality, so we wanted a person like you to serve as soon as possible and put in a position of authority. Finally, we've come now because we had a bit of paperwork to sign regarding your reenlistment, _and your immediate promotion._ "

To say that Trevor was speechless would have been an understatement. This was incredible! Him, reenlisting and a promotion?! _"Is this God's idea of a joke?"_ he thought to himself. He tried to speak, but found his tongue would not answer his mind for half a moment, but finally he found his voice, and the first words out of his mouth in reaction to this was simply, "You gotta be fucking kidding." This short sentence was enough to set the Colonel's guards snorting into their beers and banging their hands on the table. The Colonel himself simply smiled slightly and replied, "No I am not fucking kidding. You will be promoted to Lieutenant and put through boot camp to ensure you are ready to take the field again, your recent success notwithstanding."

Trevor sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "Why should I accept this _offer_?" He stressed the word offer because, as with many things in the Army, if it sounds like an offer it's really an order.

"For one thing, you have to. If the Army wants something, it has it. For another, I can tell that you want to fight back. You've just started to have a good life after that mess in Tethys, so I can tell that you want to protect what you've gotten. We can fight these things, but we need any soldiers with recent combat experience. That's less than a 100th of the Army at present. So we need you and others like you to become the NCOs and junior officers of the army we are sending against the machines." Before the Colonel could continue, Trevor leaned forward and stared straight at the officer in front of him.

"Wait a minute. Now no matter what I think about it, Tethys was just a guerrilla war. And that counts as combat experience? You guys really must be desperate." Trevor sneered at the Colonel.

The Colonel seemed to take a page from Trevor's book and rolled his eyes. Then he said, "Desperate we might be, but you still are one of our only combat experienced soldiers. So, I'm asking you: will you come and serve?"

Trevor could see where things stood and so he simply replied, "Yes sir." with as little emotion as he could.

"Good. Then we can begin. You'll be flown into the Training Center at Fort Eustace and have a crash course on officer candidacy and how to command a platoon, and upward. This should take slightly more than a year, so you should be ready to deploy with the main divisions when they go out." The Colonel said, most satisfied with his position and saluted him saying, "I wish you a successful career, Lieutenant." Trevor raised his right arm almost machine like fashion and said, like a man who knew he would be dead in an hour, "Thank you sir."

* * *

The year passed in a blur to Trevor. A year of drilling and relearning the basics of soldiering and training, all the while familiarizing himself with the men and women who he would command. The style of the army was to train entire sections together, that the men might become familiar and close to their Sergeants and Master Sergeants, and fight as an even more effective unit in the field. So it was that when he completed his final week of training on his crash course, he was introduced to the 250 troops that would be his platoon. His Platoon Sergeant, Sergei Alexandrovich Tupikov, was a middle-aged Slav of about 40 with greying hair and a face as cold as the waters of Murmansk. He was the primary battle commander for the platoon, Trevor would give the commands and he would ensure that they were carried out.

And now here he stood, with his men, and three million more, in the Great Square in the heart of the Great City of Columbia. He stood in the center of an army corps assembled for the review of the President himself. So large was this place that many felt as if they were at God's own threshold. For nothing less would do for the capitol of mankind. Home to sixty millions, this city was the beating heart and soul of mankind's empire. All the hopes and dreams and pride of this ever expanding people found expression in this glorious city.

The wonder of the galaxy, and the pride of all Mankind was Columbia, the Magnificent. Of Adamantine reinforced concrete were it's guardian fortresses built, of full size, there were twenty, and doubly that number in smaller outposts. In Columbia, there were four hundred streets from the south to the north, and another four hundred intersecting. With purest granite were they paved and along the many boulevards, avenues and thoroughfares, banners would be draped from the great buildings, sometimes over fifty feet in length. The mansions of the Old Families were of glazed marble and granite, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. With great artwork from all across humanity were the museums of Columbia decorated, along with many fossils, maps and treasures discovered on the colony worlds, and looted from destroyed xenos civilizations.

But most marvelous of all was the great Palace of the President, built by James Mathewson, the Third President. It was made in the style of stripped classicism and it's main wing was a vast thousand room tower which stretched up a thousand meters, with great columns of ivory marble supporting the overhung facade. To the left and right were two identical wings of the palace complex, each serving a different purpose. The left served as the President's personal library, the right serving as his art gallery. And behind the Palace was a massive grounds that doubled as a garden and as a zoo. Herein there lay massive prehistoric creatures brought from the preserves created on artificial islands in the Pacific. And it was rumored that under the palace, there lay even greater beasts. People even whispered that there were some as large as several mountains. These were secreted out into the mountains of Tibet or into the ocean's depths to live out their days as great hunters. Some of the greatest were even shipped off world to start vast reservations on the wildest planets in Mankind's dominions.

The square would continue until it brushed the Via Terra, where the final two wings of the Palace were built. These served as the office of the Chancellery, and the Armed Forces General Staff. These two buildings serve both the aforementioned ministries, and as massive gatehouses, for when visiting dignitaries or any persons wished to enter the square, the crowds would see the vast slabs of stone swing inward and then glimpse the sun shine down around the edges of the tower.

That was in fact, how Trevor and the entirety of this Corps arrived. Now they stood in full dress uniforms in the semi-darkness of the evening, their only source of light was the great braziers mounted on the tiers of the central tower of the palace and it's wings, including around the great statue of the First President. Smokeless fire rose in haunting etherial shapes, banners hung from every wall and posters of the heroes of the Unification Wars, the first ministers of government and of the leaders of the first colonial expeditions. It was so grand in scale that it seemed almost as a temple of some long dead pantheon of gods. But this temple was built to man, and to man's destiny, as the only ones made in the image of God.

Presently the Corps Band struck up the march, "Command us!" and after the first drum roll, the soldiers stood to attention. Trevor was nearly deafened as the roar of six million boots crashed together, as the President and his Ministers came out, bedecked in dress uniforms, medals and billowing cloaks. Then the song began. It's origins were in an old Asiatic march from the Korean Peninsula, and the tidal wave of sound that followed reflected it's purpose.

 ** _'Pon this deadly day, we are called by you  
blood boiling hot as the African desert!  
soldiers know our duty and readily will give  
our own last drop of blood as is our holy due!_**

 ** _Though peace doth calm our hearts, as a perfuming bath  
that the alien lives, brings our righteous wrath!  
we now only ask..._**

 ** _Give us your command! Master of Man! you are our guiding hand!  
Raise the banners! sound the charge!  
we shall sweep this vile scourge from this our virgin land!_**

 ** _We come from every corner, armed with what we have  
standing 'pon the castle wall to make our valiant stand!  
countless feet a-marching, churning up the land  
we are the people's army gripping iron staves!_**

 ** _Our final struggle to us calls, red battle's glory fixed ahead  
we care not for losses, nor for boiling lead!  
none shall march in our stead!_**

 ** _Give us your command! Master of Man! thou art our guiding hand!  
Raise the banners! sound the charge!  
we shall sweep this vile scourge from this our virgin land!_**

 ** _We march in lock-step, with ever swelling ranks  
ten thousand fighters, a hundred thousand tanks!  
Humanity will harden, and ever shall prepare  
our hearts are ready and hunger for war!_**

 ** _Sword and shield are gripped, prepared are we for our own death  
we are willing to die, that others may thrive  
this our goal to strive!_**

 ** _Give us your command! Master of Man! thou art our guiding hand!  
Raise the banners! sound the charge!  
we shall bring peace to this, our children's home land!_**

As the march ended, Trevor and every soldier, from Lieutenant General to buck Private raised his right arm in the straight arm Terran salute and shouted "HAIL TERRA! HAIL TERRA! HAIL TERRA!" in the characteristic chant made at official functions. The phrase itself could be exchanged on and off with hello or goodbye on the phone or in person. But here it was put to it's original use, that of a chant to bind the masses together.

Presently, the Chief raised his hand, calling for silence. They could see him even from his perch high up on the tower because of the massive television screens that were set up behind him. Now he began to speak.

"Comrades. Officers and men. Brothers and Sisters. Soldiers all. As you all know, an enemy has unveiled it's forces and attacked without any declaration of hostilities. Not from any vile cesspool of this galaxy did they come from. Rather have they traveled here from outside the Milky Way itself." Frightened and angry mutterings began to rise from the ocean of humanity like a gathering storm.

"Now for a year and a day, the Armed Forces have prepared to launch a counter offensive. And you are the results of that preparation. You and a billion others. I know you wish to strike back at this foe but it is my duty to you to warn you before you go forth in my name. The enemy has also had these twelve months to dig himself into the worlds that he has seized from us, and who knows what manner of fortifications may be waiting there?"

"But take heart brothers. For you are the Sons of Terra, and you are a part of the greatest army humanity has ever created. We have the best equipment, tanks, aircraft, ships and officers ever found or made. Compare this to the petty arsenals these "Separatists" have at their disposal. Android infantry with rifles not worthy of the name. Tanks, if you can even call them that. And ships, the largest of which could be crushed by just two of our destroyers."

"My Heaven but... I actually pity those soulless constructs you will be fighting. Truly I do. And the worst part in all this? They can't even realize the order of magnitude of how outmatched they are. How could they at all? They're machines." Many now began to sneer at the idea of _robots_ of all things thinking they could defeat them. Even Trevor couldn't help smirking at the memory of his battle against the machines. Had not they suffered only one man for every fifty of theirs? Or maybe even a hundred?!

"You and others will be going to fight this Separatist Alliance. I will not lie and tell you that you will all survive this. But our victory is assured. How could it not be? Like the proud son of Daedalus, their toys weren't good enough, and they never will be. So, I enjoin you to fight in the traditional Terran style, and give no quarter to a foe who would take none. I shall be proud to lead you into war." This was the moment. There would be no turning back after this.

"Dismissed." he said, and turned back into the palace. Now the massed ranks turned as one and the middle column began marching toward the Infinity Gate. The double doors ever so slowly and softly parted, making way for the fifty man wide procession. Now they began to sing, one of the old marching songs, and one Trevor was quite familiar with.

 _ **The guards go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!  
We slaughter Xenos just for fun, hurrah, hurrah!**_

Now they were out of the gate, marching past the stately avenues lined with fine residential blocks, draped with great tri-color banners.

 ** _The guards go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah!  
You'll all be dead before we're through, hurrah, hurrah!_**

The fifes and drums now began to play along with the beat, as they marched towards the spaceport, the massive landing barges waiting for their cargo of human beings.

 ** _The guards go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah!  
HURRAH! HURRAH!  
We are the face of destiny, hurrah, hurrah!_**

Now Trevor's platoon marched into the cavernous hanger bay, hundreds of Dropships lining the walls in small alcoves and hangers. Their destination was instead the crew quarters, now the final stanza of the march came through tired throats.

 ** _The guards go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah!  
You'll find that we've a billion more, hurrah, hurrah!_**

Trevor arrived at his quarters, wishing his platoon well in the coming struggle as he went. He arrived in the small officer's rack, it's other occupants already there, all fast asleep. Trevor changed out of his uniform and laid down on the bunk. And as he heard and felt the rumble of the plasma reactor rousing itself to life, he could only think of one question. _"Will I be ready?"_


End file.
